


Little Gift

by nanailliterate



Category: The Beatles, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: George is patient, John tries to be patient, M/M, Paul is not patient, and Ringo tests everyone's patience, it's a fun little thing, it's the jorj and jawn show everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanailliterate/pseuds/nanailliterate
Summary: John wants to get Paul something special for his birthday. As a bet, George is the lucky winner to be of assistance in John's quest. The interesting and kind of confusing adventures of Lennon and Harrison ensue. Of course, Paul misses the mark altogether and gets (not so subtly) (and quite irrationally) jealous of all the time John and George have been spending together. And Ringo's just along for the ride.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Little Gift

"Why don't we pull straws? That would be more fair than anything."

"-fucking hell."

"I guess, but do you know where the straws are in this hotel?"

"We serious, boys?"

"Right, how about we give a guess between one and ten then? John can be the person with the number in their head."

"Why bother, he'd just cheat."

"Cheat _how_?"

"Can someone just fucking help me?"

Ringo and George turned away from each other and towards the man responsible for the outburst, who was currently sitting on the stiff armchair that the hotel room provided.

"That's what we're getting at, John." George pointed out, as though John would actually accept that to be true.

"By way of a contest? A contest to decide who's off the hook?" John scoffed, the cigarette in his hand tapering as the wasted minutes ticked on. It went unnoticed since the auburn man's focus was on his supposed mates. "Some friends you are- to the both of us."

"Oh, it's not like that, John," Ringo said, having at least God's good graces to look a little guilty because it, in fact, was precisely what had been happening, "I just think that George should be the one to help you, since he knows Paul a lot better than I do."

John heard said person whine from his corner of the room. "Oh, a load of crap. Ringo and he get on fine. Tired excuse, if I had any say in the matter!"

"You've known him longer, knows what he likes in a more sentimental way." Ringo argued back, with an undeserving sincerity.

"Wouldn't do any good for a proper present now." He turned to John, "Paul's a mystery to me. Take him instead, what with all the talks he and Paul have in sharing a room sometimes. He's got more in mind with that observant eye of his. That trait's not in my nature."

"Don't be coy, you've always been observant." Ringo arched an eyebrow, hips leaning on the dresser.

"Yes, but not in that way." George tried to explain, beginning into a story about a flimsy attempt at gift-giving a few years back to his mate in America, which had resulted in a two page letter telling him off.

John tried to tune out the sound of his youngest band member, hands at his temple for a moment to recollect himself. He would have to interrupt before it got too far. He didn't want to hear any kind of story that wasn't even as strong as an excuse and not at once pleased about the turn of events.

"Look," John started, silencing the other two, "it don't bother me none if I have to ring you both by the neck, put collars on you, and drag you both to the shops. _Someone_ is coming with me." John narrowed his eyes, getting up from his seat.

"I still don't see why it's so pressing to buy the thing now, it's bloody _April_." George muttered.

"Well that's my own business, isn't it?" John responded sharply.

Ringo just chuckled, George's look matched the snarkiness of his mouth.

John sighed, allowing his patience to spread thin was against his better judgment. When stakes were this low, Ringo and George tended to get more of a kick playing at his irritation than was their desire to stay away from it. The last thing John wanted was to feed into their diversion. "We're wasting time. Since you all obviously can't behave yourselves, I'll just pick who goes with me."

Looking between the two of them, George and Ringo both felt reluctant to let John control their fates. At least when they were arguing between the two of them, they had some semblance of control. Yet, they waited for the verdict.

John placed his hand on his chin, a thoughtful look falling onto his face. "It'll be a game. A quick one."

"Oh, decisive, John."

John ignored the comment from the eldest. "Paul should be here any minute. When he walks through that door, whoever he goes to first will be my appointed shopping companion. Got it?" he finished, stubbing out his cigarette on a plate of unfinished and forgotten salad. Thankfully, it was only his own.

Having no counterarguments against John's plans, the guitarist and drummer both nodded their heads.

"Right, well since _I'd_ probably be the person he'd go to first, I'm going to the loo."

"Really, hiding out in the loos?" George scoffed, a slight smirk on his face.

"Was heading there anyway, lad!" Without another word, he grabbed a newspaper from the counter and made his way over to the bathroom.

Sure to his word, no more than a couple of minutes had passed before the bassist (and soon-to-be birthday boy in question) came in to the room, face scrunched up and notebook in hand. George and Ringo stayed silent, hoping not to be the one to draw Paul's attention and kick off this silly wager.

Alas, it seemed like Paul already had intent on ruining George's day.

"George, I've been talking to Eppy and we both think it would be a good idea to head up and have a quick conversation about the set list since you wanted to switch the order for your song. Thinks he may have a solution but he wants your go ahead first, of course. It'll be quick but if we're changing before the next concert, we need to sort it out while it's still fresh in the brain, if you're available." Paul asked, not without waving to Ringo who stood in the corner. The grin he received back was beaming.

"Fuck it all!" George groaned, staring daggers at the person who has unknowingly sealed his own fate. It's not George's fault if Paul ends up with an awful gift, it'd be his own.

"Sorry? It's not that bad of a put out, is it? Thought you'd be happy, at least," the man asked, big eyes wide and innocent, with a hint of defensiveness. _The bastard._

"Ah, don't look at me like that." George scowled, ignoring the question entirely and making his way out from the commons and into the bedrooms. If Paul _hadn't_ just inadvertently screwed him, he may have felt bad about snapping.

"Don't mind him at all. However, afraid he won't be able to go to Eppy today. He's just itching to go into the city, get some fresh air and all that."

He was going to have to throttle Ringo when he came back from the shops.

Still, nothing could be helped at this moment. George set about on getting himself ready for his day out, listening halfheartedly to the conversation between Paul and Ringo about the set list in question - which he really would have loved to be a part of, mind them. He's lucky Ringo will advocate for him in his place, anyway.

Tugging on his jacket and a hat to sit atop his head, he headed to find his self-proclaimed shopping buddy in the bathroom he knew to be hiding out in. Brashly, he knocked at the door. "Get out here, Lennon. Let's move!" He heard rustling on the other side and could have swore to hear a snicker or two.

Paul's head poked around the wall of the small hotel hall, hands halted from loosening his tie. "Two of you heading out?"

"Like Ringo said, to the shops." George shrugged, resigned.

John exited the bathroom, grin on his face like he was hoping George would lose his small battle all along. Well, he hoped that John was enjoying it, since he certainly wasn't.

"Ah, sounds fun," Paul commented lightly, shimming his way into the narrow hallway with them. George could take a leap and guess that the tone may have been an extended hand to an awaiting invitation. However, both he and John knew that it was one they couldn't offer.

"It will be, Georgie's been begging for some quality time, isn't that right?" John teased, voice high and annoying.

"It's what I've been waiting for all me life." George deadpanned.

Paul hummed, slight disappointment revealing itself and confirming George's suspicions. It was lucky that Paul was raised by a family with proper traditions and that a thing or two must have stuck on right while he was rebelling. He knew Paul wouldn't ask to tag along and insert himself into plans they already made, it wasn't his place (and maybe something like pride had a little to do with it, too).

"We'll be back soon, anyhow." John said as he shrugged on his jacket, tone casual. George wondered if John could read Paul's disappointment as well and was purposefully adding that in as a means of assurance. However, he knew John quite well enough to know that he didn't often worry about hurting others' feelings. On the other hand, he also knew that Paul was not just anybody.

John turned on his heel, heading to the front door which George took as his cue to follow. “Back in a few!” he called back to the two remaining Beatles.

John and George took their leave, hurrying out of the hotel and into the streets. They hunched their shoulders automatically, assuming the position of unsuspecting yet guarded pedestrians out on a stroll. Luckily, 'Beatlemania' didn't seem to be quite as deadly here as it was back home, or worse, in America. The fans here being either a bit more calm and/or finding it difficult to identify them under their hats and coats - lucky that the weather allowed for such attire anyway - which left them some freedom. For that they were both cheerfully relieved.

They walked until they reached the end of the street, feeling protective about the objective of their quest and assured that no one had followed them. Finally, at the end of the block, George felt comfortable enough to speak.

“So, what were you thinking as a gift?” he asked, realizing that he really was starting at the most basic level, having had no conversation of a game plan with John.

The older man shrugged in a charade of nonchalance which George knew to be false, else he wouldn't have asked to be accompanied in the first place. “Was thinking of something for his new bass. Maybe a collection of old records, if no idea dawns on me by the end of the day.”

George frowned in thought as they waited for a light. “That don't make sense. If you wanted to gift Paul music-type stuff, you wouldn't have asked me. You know that arena more than I do," he paused, "when it comes to Paul, that is." He hoped his inquiries weren't hitting John wrong. He didn't mean for it to sound quite so investigative, but he figured he was at least a little on the dot.

John quirked a brow. "That so?"

He nodded in affirmation. He watched in amusement as John squinted at him with a pondering look, not sure if it was the eyesight or what was happening in the upstairs department of his noggin. “Think your eyes miss your glasses, mate.”

“Sod off,” Lennon broke his gaze, grin dawning his face. "Ringo was right though. Quite observant!”

George reciprocated the grin, finding himself to be enjoying the time, coming as a nice surprise as he supposed he could be loathing it instead. “Well, come off it. What were you thinking for a gift?”

“Well,” John started, letting the word linger. "Have some ideas."

If George knew any better, he may suspect that the man might be stalling a bit, as it wasn't like him to roll around a question. "Spit it out then," George encouraged passively, lighting up his cigarette as the two walked past some of the smaller outside shops, venturing more into the center.

John held his hand out expectantly, quickly lighting his own when George helpfully supplied both stick and flame. "Quiet eager, do we need to settle you down?"

"Just trying to be useful in the way that you want me to be, since it was your idea after all," he remarked. He could continue to keep up the easy back and forth, as it was always fun to mess around with John, but there was still the matter at hand that they had come for a reason and he didn't want to be away too long and make Paul suspicious. Added, John's reluctance about his intentions was also hitting at George's curiosity. "You're just as much of a mate to Paul as Ringo and me, you must have an idea." he insisted, knowing it was a bit of an under exaggeration still, kicking his feet as they walked.

John furrowed his eyebrows, looking idly around as they continued onto the street. They finally were approaching the strip that, George supposed, he knew was there all along. "I don't want something arbitrary, you know? Not a prezzie he'd get from his dear aunties or other. Exciting-like, something he doesn't really have or would expect."

"So, something more special?"

"If that's what you want to call it, Georgie." John teased as a gag.

George saw beyond it though, John was being genuine despite the joking. It wasn't wholly unexpected; John really was a kind soul to the people he loved, had a softer underbelly than the one he presented. But, it was still a bit odd, considering it was just Paul and it wasn't even a milestone year. "Any grand occasion I don't know about?" he asked.

"Nah," he waved off the question, "figured all my past gifts have been a bit shit, ey? Figured I owe him this."

"Oh John, I didn't know you had it in you." he quipped, curbing his mild surprise.

"Every now and then I allow myself to get a bit dreamy to throw off people's expectations." The older man declared, grin planted.

"It's certainly a trait I've previously never seen before!" he played back. Continuing, "Remind me to cash in this ticket for my birthday as well. Since you're suddenly seeking retribution for your half-arsed gifts."

"Gifts full-arsed, I'll be sure of it." John winked, effectively putting an end to the conversation. "Now, let's roam a bit, shall we?"

***

"Sweets," George offered, "you can get him sweets."

"A load of candy? That's your great idea? We've got a coin and a half now, George, could you think of a cheaper spin?"

"Rental flat. You pay the first month."

"Take this serious."

"A collage of his family, starring his da. Me mum's got some photos of us, Paul and I. Contact Mikey to round out the catalog. That's all we need, innit?"

"You're shit," John huffed, looking at him in angsty disapproval.

"Just wanted to get all the bad ideas out of the way," he shrugged, unable to hide his mirth. "Now look, you know what you don't want to get him! The only place left to go is up."

"Some help you are."

"I'm trying my best here, the brain power's working."

Instead of acting on his powerful urge to kick the younger man, John pulled him into a colorful tent that was set up in front of a larger shopping building. "Here, maybe."

It was a tiny little shop in comparison to the larger places that the strip offered. In other situations, John might have been captured by all the trinkets and colors, but he was in a different mindset today. He roamed around the store with a purposeful disposition, looking at everything, both shiny and sleek.

"It's a bit out there," George remarked, though not completely turned off.

"Just trying out that different thing, right?" John shrugged.

They wandered. John ran his hand over a crystal attached to a necklace, it was beautiful and had that kind of bohemian vibe that he was sort of into, but wasn't something Paul would be interested in. But neither was the cologne that smelled like something his grandfather would wear at a funeral. Neither was the rug that felt like little pine needles when you touched it, completely undesirable all around, no matter how attractive the color scheme may be. In fact, nothing here seemed to be sufficient.

It was only then, with John skimming and going back and forth over the same area for more minutes than needed, touching things only to put them back a second later, eyes and expression betraying his confusion, that George truly understood how lost John must really be.

"You really... have no idea what to get him, do you?"

"Not a fucking clue, son."

***

It had been three hours. John didn't like anything they saw in any shop they visited.

John didn't like the jackets in the clothing store, he didn't like the video tapes offered in the electronic shop, and he didn't like the vintage posters hung in the trendy teen-bop store that they tried in their last bit of desperation. They had managed to explore just about every shop on the northern section of the strip and had found nothing to John's liking.

Eventually, the two decided to take a quick lunch break to get their sorts back in order and reevaluate what they needed, but they didn't come up with anything substantial outside of throwing the occasional bread scrap that was meant to be for their soups at each other, bringing them a few laughs. There was not really any productive conversation, and George got a sick kind of vindicated satisfaction that he didn't look to be of any use for John; every suggestion he gave was met with John repeating that it wasn't what he wanted. Whatever it is, they haven't found it yet. George didn't know what that meant, but he was going to have to be patient. He'd find out when John did, he reckoned.

After lunch, despite already deciding to land away from music, they even wandered back through a record store. Even though it was the place that held the most promise, it also seemed to be the place that stressed John out the most. Perhaps there were just too many options, but despite John remarking earlier that it would be his back up, they ended up leaving a few minutes after without opening their wallets.

It was a bit sad to see John so dismayed, down-and-out and empty-handed. Or, maybe pathetic was the right word? It depended on how much gratification George was taking out of it in that moment. Either way, he still listened with courtesy as John rattled on about this or that that had annoyed him about the various shops they visited, masking his own feelings of inferiority at not being able to complete the one task they had that day.

At least all that rambling made the walk back to the hotel fairly quick. They'd only been stopped once and she was a shy girl, allowing them to make quick greetings and leave without a big fuss. As the two entered past the hotel room door, they were surprised to find Paul and Ringo on the couch of the common room, letting the radio's talk show hosts fill in the space between their chatting, though they were sure not to understand much with the language barrier.

"Ah, look who graces us with their presence!" Ringo called out, marking the bags (there were supposed to be bags, weren't there?) that were absent.

Paul must have noticed the same. "Hello," he called, "nothing catch your eye?"

John looked down at his hands dumbly; George, even dumber, looked too. "Ah, guess not."

"Nope," George agreed.

"You two were gone for long enough," came the remark from Paul, cocking his head to the side.

_Oh, John owes me big time_. "Not to worry, we're heading back tomorrow. More luck will strike then, I'm sure."

"-Again?"

"-Really?"

John and George looked on as Paul and Ringo asked their questions in the same vein, but little did Paul know, for much different reasons.

" _Yes_ , again tomorrow," George gave Ringo a knowing look, to which the older man responded with a laugh.

"I do wish you as much fun tomorrow as you had today."

John rolled his eyes. Paul frowned, "What exactly do you two need to get at the shops so badly?"

George looked to John expectantly, his response coming with a shrug, "I dunno, bit of a personal question, Macca."

"Boundaries, Paul." George nodded.

"You're all strange." Paul commented, thinking it a joke.

John finally gave in for a chuckle, spinning on his heel and exiting straight out the door they had just came in. "I'm going for a smoke." At once, Paul got up and followed him out the door.

"Round two tomorrow!" Ringo called out when Paul had left the room, a thunderous clap flaunting his delight.

George groaned.

_____________________

**Day Two**

For the first time in the lengthy and close-quartered history that he shared with him, _John_ was the one to take it upon himself to wake George up bright and early. George peeked an eye out at the bedside clock. Well, noon wasn't quite that early, but the sentiment remained.

He groaned as the older man let his knee dig into the soft area of his side, hand pressed and covering half of his face and nose, quietly suffocating him. "Get up, now! Must'nt waste the day away!"

"Leave me be." He grumbled, trying to avoid John's fingers finding their way into his mouth and eye sockets. "Ringo and Paul are much kinder than you at this."

"More kind," John corrected.

"I'm fairly bloody certain kinder is a word." George groaned, trying to tuck the blanket up to his chin again, hoping to avoid the morning (noon?) chill.

"Who's the author here?"

"You, for reasons beyond my comprehension." he muttered, face buried in his pillow.

"If we were to sit here and go through everything outside of your comprehension, we'd be here all day! Let's get on up," John tried again, persistent as always.

Well, George thought, he did make a promise. "Fine. But you owe me brekkie. Do we have time?"

"Paul's been up for hours, no point in sneaking away. Have your breakfast if you'd like. I already did."

George sighed as he got up, walking to the large sitting room where, he hoped, what was left of breakfast would be waiting for him. He smiled to himself seeing that lunch, apparently, had just arrived. Even better.

"Sandwich, George?" Paul asked, handing one out to Ringo as he crossed him.

"Please." George sighed, sitting himself back down. "John's barely let me enjoy my morning. Almost took out my eye."

"We did tell him to be gentle but he's all riled up." Ringo chortled. "Just be happy Eppy's actually ordered us some fresh food today.”

George mentally salivated and gladly took the offered meal, loving the vibrant colors of the vegetables packed in. Gazing at a meal that wasn't fast was absolutely delightful, he found to his astonishment.

"So, when are you and John off, again?" Paul asked, settling down with his own lunch.

George shrugged, "Suppose when I'm done with this."

"Not wasting any time, eh?"

"Seems not."

"Still just roaming?"

"Yeah, there's quite a lot to see."

"Oh I bet, though I haven't gone there myself yet."

"Yeah, it's a bit out of the way, sure." He kept himself leveled but couldn't help but eye the bassist wearily, getting the impression that Paul was trying to assess something from it. He was sure that Paul wasn't suspicious of John's wanting to get him a birthday gift, as it was still two months away, but it didn't stop the bugger from getting that watchful look when he knew _something_ was up.

"Yes, well, should still be quite fun," Paul threw out, playing indifference. He slipped some complimentary pieces of fruit onto his plate and picked up an orange slice and bit into it, "Must be nice to wander."

"It is, but not extremely so. Was stopped a few times." George spoke carefully, not wanting to entice Paul too much. The less fun he thinks they have on their excursions, the better.

"It's to be expected, isn't it?" Paul asked, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. Ringo handed him a napkin, which he gratefully took with a sheepish smile.

"You're very right," George smiled, letting the conversation drift to an end. Paul didn't seem to want that and looked frustrated in his seat, no doubt feeling shrugged aside a second time, both in conversation and in not being invited into their secretive little escapade- though George really didn't feel that bad. All of the big fuss was for him anyway, regardless if he knew about it or not.

George drove through his meal with a quickness that he knew wasn't wise for another day on his feet, but he would risk it anyway. He decided to go for seconds when he noticed, not unhappily, that Paul had seemed to give up on trying to converse with him altogether and had begun talking to Ringo. Even still though, George could feel Paul's cold shoulder. He wondered if it was something that he was doing intentionally or if his umbrage was just that loud, enough for the universe to catch hold of.

After the quick conversation about something having to do with the concert in the next town over, Paul got up and dumped his paper plate in the trash bag they kept at the end of the counter. Without sparing another glance, he went off into another room where George could distantly hear a conversation strike up between he and John, possibly Brian included.

George blew out a breath at Paul's absence. "He's going to be a cheery one today, lucky you!" he joked to Ringo.

"Oh I don't mind it, after all two of his best mates are snubbing him off. Got a little of that frustration out yesterday. Poor fellow."

"Did he really?" George asked, incredulous. " _Snubbing him?_ "

Ringo flashed him his pearly whites. "Oh, I'm a great confidant and a horrible exaggerator, as it were. We're bonding- I have loyalties now!"

George huffed in frustration, "I have no idea what's with all the madness. Both he and John owe me big when this is over."

Ringo smiled, picking up the newspaper to continue his reading.

Once breakfast was over, in a similar fashion to the day prior, John and he headed out of the hotel in a hurry, not wanting to linger around and let Brian or Paul distract or mess up their carefully constructed plans. They had a limited amount of free time and John was going to find this gift, come hell or high water.

***

George had to give his respect to John. He seemed to really be following through with the hell or high water commitment, because at this pace, he was either going to have to buy the first piss-poor item he saw or they were going to have to go searching for a lake or a trench leading straight to Hades.

Hours of unsuccessful searching was beginning to get to John, and even touched George a bit, but at least they were still hopeful that something would turn up eventually. They were silent as they passed by yet another insignificant store, had entered only to spend no more than five minutes inside, and exited back out.

George was ready to call it and John's own displeasure read quite easily on his face. It was almost the end of the day, and they had yet to find the perfect gift. While George would take some responsibility for the failure of the day the first time around - what with his lack of trying and all - he would not be willing to take much this time.

John has been absolutely insufferable. If yesterday he was more determined to find the right gift, with comments that at least led to some kind of constructive criticism, now the past few hours had him snippy. George could give as good as he got, but John didn't seem to tire and it just simply wouldn't be worth it to pick a fight.

Though both men were ready to book out of the center as quickly as possible, they learned from the day prior that they couldn't simply turn up empty-handed, lest Paul be as observant as he was before.

George sighed, stopping in his tracks and turning to the nearest counter he saw. "Let's just ring this up, Ringo would probably like it?"

"Then we'd have to lug it around a handful of other cities before we take it back home. I'll say no."

"Good point," George nodded his head, "but we have to turn up with something?"

John shook his head, the day's defeat making him impatient and short. "It doesn't matter anyway, does it? Here," he said, raising his voice bit by bit, "four jumpers because it's _bloody_ chilly here. Done!"

George caught the two jumpers that John shoved into his chest, watching as John took the other two to the counter to, he supposed, split the purchase. He glanced at the sizes - extra small and extra large. They were up-to-date in terms of style, but definitely the wrong racks to pull from in fit. He grinned to himself as he caught up with John.

He was sympathetic to John, but a laugh was a laugh, and after this day he needed one.

They ended up with a few other items that caught their eye near the register counter; a few postcards for Cynthia, envelopes so he could send money to Mimi, and a trinket that George's mother was sure to appreciate as a remembrance of their travels. Hopefully, this was enough to get Paul (and Ringo, the mixer) to lay off a bit.

On their way home, they decided to forego picking up food and agreed that their alliances were more to their aching feet than to their semi-empty stomachs. When they got back to the hotel, Paul and Ringo were in the common area lounging on the sofas, a similar site to the night before, though the radio was replaced with the television, the light bouncing off the dimly lit walls.

The two were both already dressed for bed (Christ, neither George nor John noticed how late it was) and were beginning to unwind from their own day, drinks in hand. John would continuously deny that his heart didn't swell a little at the peaceful, contented look on the younger man before him. George, quite the opposite, was on guard in case he was going to act up again.

Due to someone, apparently, residing above the clouds, Paul's mood seemed to be in higher spirits. The first to notice their return, he sat up and greeted them. "Hi there, have a good time?"

"Dandy," John commented, deflating from the testy mood he was in, the exhaustion in his voice was thinly evident.

"How's it?" Ringo asked George, continuing to find much enjoyment in his and John's agreement.

"Like John said, dandy," he answered, muttering "fucker" under his breath.

"Find anything interesting this go around?" Paul asked, not at all subtle to lift his head curiously at the small bags they held.

At that, Ringo also sat up, an expectant grin on his face. The devil.

John was as prepared as a cowboy during a duel, hand on the shopping bag like would be on his holster. "Lookie there, McCartney," he tossed the more-interesting bag of jumpers to Paul, "don't say I never got you anything."

"For me?" he asked with surprise, easily catching the bag.

"Well, for all of us, really."

George snickered as he handed his own bag to Ringo, eyeing him and mouthing to take a look inside and at the size. Ringo did so with a swiftness and stealth that should be taught to the British militia, fighting a cackle as he waited for Paul to finish his own slower, more careful assessment.

The bassist seemed to like what he was seeing and gave a quick glance to John, only to frown upon seeing the tag. He put down that jumper and pulled the other out, finding the same problem with them both, a deepening in between his brows.

"John," Paul griped, "Nice gag. A waste of money is more like it."

John's mouth dropped open in a moment of surprise, watching his band mate go back to watching the tube, taking a swig of his drink. He picked up the purchases and tried to find what had offended the man moments ago. It was only then he noticed the sizes, both much too big and too small to be an honest approximation, and he looked back to George and Ringo, who were snickering in their own delight.

"George didn't tell me!" he defended himself, giving a sneer to the youngest of the lot.

"Well, then it was a mistake from a lack of effort." Paul looked at George offhandedly from the corner of his eye, "Guess you two were too distracted to notice."

At this, George and Ringo were unable to hide their bellows of laughter. John's only solace was the fact that Paul didn't seem to appreciate it either.

_____________________

**Day Three (third time's the charm, right?)**

"Don't tell me you're headed back to the shops?" Paul asked the two Beatles getting their outside apparel on once again, voice a perfect reflection of astonishment. "This has got to be a front for something, eh?" he muttered to Ringo, though that lad's attention was more on the tea in front of him and the letters he was sifting through than the woes that the doe-eyed man was complaining about.

"Gotta return the jumpers, right?" George replied back, voice low and eyes downcast. Perhaps not making eye contact would spare him of the rage and annoyance the other man was currently throwing his way... again.

"Shall I go with you so to prevent any fuck up's warranting a _fourth_ day out?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Perhaps the only time George was ever thankful for John's big mouth coming in and interrupting (and saving George from his own big mouth, he's sure), John's voice suddenly rang out. "Come on, George, I'd like to be going before dark if that's fine with you!" he shouted from the door, not bothering to come into the room.

George just shrugged apologetically and made to leave when Paul's voice, loud and already a bit snappy, spoke up again.

"John, come over, will you?" Paul requested. Even Ringo looked up, picking up on the new atmosphere and curious to see how this conversation would unfold.

John hummed, unsuspecting, and decided to obey, thankfully, "Yes?"

"Don't you think it's about time to get to work on some new material? There's things to do, after all, outside of visiting the outlets," Paul spoke.

John furrowed his eyebrows, "We're on tour, nothing else to do than get a few birds under our arms and drinks in our guts, for one."

George sighed, this was fair. It was true that they hardly worked on music while actually on tour, that was mostly saved for the weeks after landing back home. It was too chaotic to try to get in writing and recording sessions, in a formal sense. It wasn't expected of them anyhow. However, somehow George knew this was also the wrong answer.

"Ah, is that where you lads are off to? Birds and beer?"

"It was only an example, you know where we're going," John waved off, a subtle sarcastic glint in his voice, but George could see the sure signs of the guitarist getting irritated. He didn't often like to be told what to do or judged for what he did do, especially when he was doing nothing wrong.

"You've gone out to the city more than we've actually practiced for our performances." Paul said, arms in a position that clearly showed his disapproval.

"Practice for what? We know the songs; the audience can't hear us anyway," John maintained. "Since when are you so objected to taking a breather every now and then?"

Paul bristled. "It's just a bit excessive, is all."

"Aye, and what would you like me to do about it? I'm quite sorry I'm enjoying my time." John said, and despite the cutting words, George was appreciative that he, at least, wasn't yelling.

Still, Paul fought to hide a recoil. His eyes turned to George for one second before he turned away. "Oh, why bother. Go off then you two, enjoy your time," he dismissed.

John set his eyebrows in a tense knit. "Ta," he scuffed, mirroring Paul's mannerisms.

George followed him out the door, lingering just a pace behind. Hands in his pockets, he let Lennon self-soothe for a few moments before he spoke. "Wonder what that was about."

"He's just being a prick. It's not like he's never skipped out on band stuff for a bird or taken the piss and screwed things up. We're just shopping. Don't know what the concern is for, suddenly."

Though he was trying to seem unfazed to some capacity, George could see how much Paul had galled him. Which, John did have some sort of foot to land on, but secrecy within the Beatles was not a good look. They hardly had anything to hide among themselves, what with their mentality, being 'us against the world,' usually. To Paul's perspective, he appreciated not having to play babysitter to his band mates and it had to be stressful to think some were off playing around on their own instead of carrying their weight. Just as well, in general, so much break off into smaller groups, groups that weren't Paul and John, for so long, was a bit strange. It did nothing to help their dynamics, Paul and John's dynamic.

"Must be a little hard for him, you figure?"

John snorted, "Poor Paulie."

"Nah, just mean he's probably confused. You two are sort of hooked by hip most of the time, is all."

John seemed to relax a bit at that. For as hot-tempered as he was, George liked his rational side. "He owes me arse a kiss, acting like a little menace. And with all my hard work."

"Hey! _Our_ hard work-"

"Yes lad! A real Lennon and Harrison!"

"-and you haven't even gotten the bloody present yet. He doesn't owe you anything yet as far as I can tell."

"Alright, watch it."

George chuckled. "At least I gave us an alibi to come back," he said, waving the bag to refer to the jumpers.

"Oh, you're a prick for that too, don't think I've forgotten!" John belted, finally melting the last of the remaining strain in the atmosphere. "Paul's usually not that sore about stuff like that, but it was great to see that look on his face."

"Yeah, I'm glad you are able to step back and see the beauty of it all." George reciprocated. "After all, it's not his real present anyway, so he can't be too cross."

"They're matching jumpers, Georgie, 'course not. Like I said, he's just being tosser." John spoke again, but George could hear a mild sense of fondness was present instead of what could just as easily have been irritation. George was glad for the former.

As they approached the shops once again, George figured it was as good a time as any to bring up something that had been on his mind recently.

"So, about the prezzie. We've established that you want it to be special-" George ignored the loud groan John threw his way at the soft language, "- but what you don't understand is that I can't tell you what would be special."

John made a noise like a grunt, adjusting his hat and stuffing his hands in his pockets, "It's just you seem to be good at giving Ringo and all them others gifts. I've enjoyed a few myself."

He smiled, glad to hear of the compliment. "Thanks. Yes, that is true. But..." he interrupted himself, choosing his words carefully, "this is a bit different, yeah?"

John looked at him, and George could feel a thin layer of tension build up between them. George wasn't even totally sure what he was insinuating, but he knew that something was there. It's always been there, between the two. It was something that he wouldn't mention, something that lent itself to a thought that he hadn't even put in the time for yet.

The older lad nodded.

"Right, so, special can be anything. Way I see it and in our position, it’s more about the past than the future, and it's not going to be known or found by me. Unless you want returning the jumpers to be our only success today, let's start fresh."

***

In the end, they went back to the music shop they visited on that first day. John took his time this go around, carefully carding through the vinyls, then the tapes, over to posters and books, and back to the records. There were a few instruments as well, guitars and trumpets hung on the wall as an afterthought. However, John didn't pay too much attention to them. If he wanted to buy one, he'd go to a showier place than this.

George watched curiously as John threaded through the different sections and stacks, choosing to form a diverse pull. The younger man didn't want to start looking around for himself, as he knew that he wouldn't ever be able to stop, but he had to acknowledge that his assistance wasn't exactly being utilized anyhow. John had seemed to find his own inspiration and was making the rounds, in his own world. George could gather some information here and there, looking at the titles and names that John chose, but was unable to pick up a pattern. Finally he concluded that there wasn't a theme at all, other than the fact that Paul would simply enjoy them.

He waited patiently for John to pay (and by the look of it, John had spent a pretty quid or two) and walked by his side once the transaction was done. "Music, hm?"

"It's the glue, dear boy." He joked, pleased with himself.

Well, that much was true. It was the thing that started it all and if it's not broke, don't fix it. Though George had to admit, even though Paul was sure to enjoy them, he felt lackluster about the choice of gift. Paul visited music shops all the time, and now that they had some change to spare, he could buy out a whole store if he felt inspired to do so. He expected the 'special' that John was referring to would be a little different, a little more tender, at the very least.

George kept these thoughts to himself, as he didn't want to crush the high spirits that John currently seemed to be riding on. After signing the inevitable autograph here and there (it was a music store, after all), they managed to escape with little furor. They walked home, him listening to John comment on a new record or artist he wanted to spare an ear to, if Paul would have him. They spoke in companionable jest, dispositions lifted, which both were grateful for.

They stopped once along the way at John's request for take-out, but soon headed back to the hotel with full bags and in much better moods than when they left.

***

Luckily for the both of them, it seemed like Paul and Ringo had broken off by the time they returned, as the common room was empty. It was easier to deal with the two nuisances on their own than in a pack anyway.

John went straight to the rooms, George assumed it was to hide his stash before Paul could nosily spoil his own birthday present, but he was able to locate Ringo in the kitchen area, having a cigarette.

"Here you go," he called, placing the greasy bag that contained the cruddy little meal that John and he had picked up on the way home in front of him.

Ringo lit up, he may as well have been handed lobster and steak. "I'm starving, thanks."

"Don't mention it," George replied. He sat in a chair close to the small table and lit up his own smoke. "We've struck gold today, mate."

"Too bad, I was looking forward to a day four. I think by the end of it, Paul would've been gearing to have a go at you."

"I hope you would've bet on me! I've got a few bones to pick with him, I could take him."

Ringo laughed between bites, "Between you and Paul, it's anyone's guess. Anyway, I'm dying to know. Gift's not actually jumpers, is it?"

"Course not. That was a cover. And a prank on John." George leaned forward. "Records." he spoke, conspiratorially.

"Pardon?"

"Records, John got him records." He finished, arms going up in an air of 'ta-da'.

"Oh, well that... fits."

George tittered, "Yeah, earth-shattering."

Ringo set down his food and sat, contemplatively. "He needed you to pick out some records with him?"

"I mean, we were both against it at first, but at the end of the day he came around to it and I just wanted to be done." He shrugged.

"I just thought maybe it would be something else, records are just records."

George snorted, "I mean, it's not sensational but Paul will like them well enough."

Ringo sipped his drink, "Dunno Georgie, just really had a feeling like John was going for something better."

"Well it ain't my fault!"

"Never said it was, just thought something better was in store. The anticipation sure built up for it."

“We’ll find out in June, won't we?” The younger boy shrugged again, "It's not that big of a deal anyway. What do you expect, a diamond yacht or something? It's just Paul."

Ringo resumed eating and smiled at him, a twinkle in his eye, like he knew something that George didn't. It was mildly bothersome, but George figured he didn't actually worry himself in other people's business much anyhow, so Ringo very well may know something he didn't. But, hey, George was the one who spent a quarter of his life with John at the shops these past few days, so he resented being treated like he was the one in the dark. "Paul will like the records. He'll add them to his collection."

“Of course he'll like them,” Ringo smiled, "they're from John."

\---------------------------------------------------------------

"Back already?" Paul spoke, tone neutral. He was laying on his small hotel bed, not having bothered getting undressed from his own day's events, making his outfit not the most comfortable to lounge in. He gave one uninterested look towards the man in front of him before retreating his eyes back to the book in hand.

"Still peeved at me?"

"Wasn't peeved at you."

"You lie like you play drums-" John commented, bypassing his own bed to walk towards him. He landed on the younger’s bed with a thump, "like _shit_."

Paul huffed a reluctant laugh, unable to truly be cold. "Or like you going shopping, so piss off." He then looked at the bags that John dropped near the door, unable to see what the contents were. "Seems like another successful trip with George. Hopefully you brought something more useful this time."

John's posture changed, an excited yet hesitant energy around him. "Oh yeah, loads."

Paul waited a beat, but John kept still to the spot. "So? Would I be able to take a look?"

John hummed, sly and playful. "Mm, well it is for you. Just you this time."

“More jumpers?”

“After last nights success, I decided to go in a different direction.”

Paul's ears perked up and he shifted his position to be sitting up in the bed, setting the book down, forgotten. "And the occasion?"

"Beats me, as you've been a right bugger lately. Georgie needs a kiss, as an apology. Lad's just doing the nice thing by me."

Paul's ears burned a bit, feeling the retroactive embarrassment of his own behavior the past few days, feeling perhaps he got a little carried away, but he played on. "Well he'll keep waiting. It's not my fault."

"How do you figure?"

Ah, what a difficult question. "I dunno, just thought we'd be able to get work done and was annoyed when we weren't."

"I," John emphasized, "have been very productive."

"With George," Paul finished, eyes soft, telling.

"With George," John agreed. His eyes were gentle, not apologetic, but still asking to be understood anyway. It was friendly, but there was adoration there, giving Paul space but begging to be recognized as something deeper. It was intense, in the best way.

The jealousy that had been lingering in the pool of Paul's gut the last few days screamed at him in a different way, putting a guilty and nasty feeling into his belly. The need to be in-the-know, the envy he felt, was not a stranger, as that was often the catalyst of many fights when Stu was still around, but every single time it made an appearance, it brought Paul back to those days where he felt unsure and small. It reignited a fear in him that rivaled his usual self-confidant attitude, messed with the group's moods. It was a fault of his, one he couldn't control, and it was strong.

However, the jealousy that didn't feel like it would ever let up dissipated by having all of John's attention on him in this moment, Paul noticed, watching as John smiled his way.

How could it persist when John always, and never failed, to look at him like that?

The air around them was companionable but thick, and their words and shared looks felt like a layered conversation. It was not unusual for them.

Paul gave a small laugh to fill some of the silence and break the bit of built up tension, looking down and back up. "Right, which leads us back to your purchase?"

"It's your birthday present." John didn't hesitate this time, a grin in his voice.

"Oh, you're early!" Paul spoke, truly well surprised at the fact that he even got him a gift in the first place, as it wasn't always custom. He felt a warmth in his stomach. "That's lovely, John."

"I buy you presents and am lovely, and you've been angry and a twat. What a world!"

Paul gave him an eye. "Okay, Lennon."

John smirked at the amusement Paul gave him but decided to stop the teasing for a moment, instead getting up to go fetch the bags he had set down.

He went on without preamble. "I've got you some albums," he said, handing each one to Paul, who apparently wasn't quick enough so he started setting one by one on Paul's outstretched legs instead. The younger man gasped lightly in excitement, though still in confusion as to why he was receiving his gifts _now_ , but eagerly eyeing the records as they rolled through. He tried to hold each one, reading quickly as title after title appeared before him, too fast to really take in.

"John-"

"I've also found this book. Read through it a bit, thought you'd like some of the city's historical accounts of music. The city's lousy with romanticism and it truly does show." he commented, ending in a funny, nasally voice.

"Johnny, this is very much not how birthday gifts work." he finally spoke, trying and failing to secure the albums that were too large and too many to hold in his arms. He looked at them with large eyes, picking one up only to put it down for a more interesting find. "These really are fantastic! Some are repeats but can replace the ones I've used to death."

John watched as Paul inspected his haul, smile on his lips. "Some of them I chose for that reason, many are ones we'd use to practice together."

"I didn't forget," Paul smiled in recognition, picking up a nearby Everly Brothers record.

"Now we don't have to listen to a skipping record- makes my fucking ears bleed."

Paul chuckled at the comment but was too distracted by all of the albums he had suddenly scored to respond with something clever. Each time he scanned around him, he was also relieving memories of he and John in one of their tiny bedrooms, guitars on lap. They played in the background of his head like a movie reel. "It's great. That's so-"

"Lovely, I'm sure. You're lucky to have such a great guy around you." John winked.

Paul held up a Chuck Berry pick. "Oh I know, I'll always let Berry know how important he is to me."

"Cheeky!"

At John's laugh, he set the record down and peered at the sea of albums surrounding him, unable to comprehend how only a few short years ago they had to scrap for purchases (or nick them, if they were feeling brazen enough) and now they were able to round them up like they were stones on a beach. He felt warmth in his chest for more reasons than one. Still, he couldn't help but laugh again, "My birthday isn't until two months. You're daft, you could have wrapped them up! What proper present is this now?"

"What's this, has the novelty worn off already?" John jested (far away, John thought gleefully about how angry George would be if he knew that John spilled the surprise months in advance, as was always the intention). He then got up and went to the door, opening it quickly before shutting it again. He held a paper bag that must have been sitting outside. "Anyway, this wouldn't have made it two months."

He held it in his hands, and Paul could immediately smell the aroma of food, but couldn't tell what it was specifically. It did smell a little familiar at least, something accustomed to his own nose. He reached out a hand to take it, but John pulled it back with a soft smile. "It's your last present."

Paul reached out his hand again, confusion easily readable to John, who pulled back the bag from his hands once again. "Before you judge it, just.. you know," John fumbled, realizing that he didn't know how to finish the sentence. "Well, have a look first, I suppose."

Paul finally got his hands on the mystery bag and reached in, feeling something familiar (indeed, definitely food) underneath his fingertips. He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled out a carton of chips, looking very much regular and salty.

"Chips," Paul said. John couldn't tell of Paul's understanding, so he pressed forward.

"Well, we are in Paris, aren't we?" John watched Paul's face, seeming to be frozen in time. "Ah, you gave me a hamburger," John explained, waving his hand, leaving another breadcrumb. It was much harder to say out loud, _embarrassing_ , "years ago, for my own birthday."

A few moments passed, beats of silence that John thought might actually gut him.

Finally, Paul spoke. "So you gave me chips.” Unbeknownst to him, his reply finally settled John's racing heart, watching the slow recognition appear on his face. "The ideal counterpart," he said, tone playful, though his smile was soft. John almost forgot he gave Paul a dingy bag of fried potatoes, with the way Paul's looking down at them.

"I can't believe-" The younger boy started, but suddenly looked up, asking with shock in his voice, "George helped you with this?"

"No, git made my time harder than it needed to be for a while. But he did help me," he paused, "discern some things. Special things, you know."

"Special things?" Paul asked, teasing but not without sincerity.

John shrugged, laughing, "Oh, I don't know. Can't explain it."

"Then I'll be sure to thank him, you mentioned something about a kiss?"

"And here I'm left abandoned! It was still my idea all the same." John boasted, eyes crinkling and heart beating, reclaiming his space on Paul's bed.

"Course. Who else but you?" Paul responded, words falling from his lips with an ease.

"I wasn't even sure you'd understand," John confessed, "It's not much, but..." he let his words drift off.

"I get it." Paul tenderly affirmed anyway. He wanted John to know exactly how much he understood and was grateful for it. Any vulnerability offered up by the older man was a treat, and he wanted to offer the same security he likewise found in him.

John smiled, and Paul just hoped he got the message. The fries in his hand were getting colder by the second and a little soft in the way they do when the oil penetrates them too much, just like the burger that he had gifted to John years ago. Somehow, they tasted delicious.

"Oh! And your vanilla milkshake," John added, taking the remaining contents out of the bag and handing it over, tossing the empty sack to the floor.

Paul laughed, heart fast and quite, quite fond. He took it in his hand. "It was actually banana," he corrected.

"Ah, fuck. That's right!” John cursed, smacking his forehead, but Paul only laughed.

Hesitantly, he thanked John in the only way that felt right, in a way neither of them were brave enough to venture to before, lasting seconds but translating so much more. A new way, shy and exciting, terrifying and electric. But it was Paris, and it seemed fitting.

Neither Paul nor John thought the milkshake could taste even half as sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling good about writing again and used this as a way to jump back into it. Let me know how you like it or visit my tumblr if you have other thoughts/requests (nanailliterate). Also, I think I want to change the title - unrelated.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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